Following
by Mizu Iruka
Summary: It wasn't like Dean would leave Sam alone at school without making sure he was okay. Duh. Unseen installment.


**Following**

_Part of an AU where Sam was blinded at a young age. This installment is during Sam's time at college._

* * *

Following Sam to California seemed cruel somehow. A breach of trust.

Then again, Sam had been the one to walk out with hardly any warning.

Dean kept his eyes on the bus, briefly drawing alongside and scanning the faces. Maybe Sam was in the back.

And maybe Dean was an overprotective idiot. He could deal with that.

The bus pulled into a rest stop and Dean followed with a sigh. He could make it to Cali in half the time with the Impala going the speed he wanted, but he needed to keep close. Just in case.

Sam got off the bus and Dean drew in a breath, automatically ducking away as if Sam could see him.

Sam had already made some friends, apparently. Dean quenched the urge to snarl at them to get their hands off of Sam as one overly-friendly man put a paw on Sam's neck. Sam twitched him off, reaching out to grasp the elbow of the woman who had been leading him. Dean watched on tenterhooks as Sam was led to the restroom.

His phone rang. "Hello?" he muttered tersely. It better not be that chick from a week ago.

"Dean, are you following Sam?" his dad asked without preamble.

"Yup." Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, staring daggers at the door of the rest stop. What did Sam do, fall in?

The grunted, "he okay?" was as far as John would ever get to letting his son back in again, Dean realized with a strange kind of pang.

"Yeah, far as I can tell."

"Hurry it up. We've got a job in Washington."

Dean snapped his phone shut without a goodbye, heaving a sigh of relief as Sam came back out, this time on his own, cane tapping the way. Dean had once asked him what it was like, walking through a foreign place without knowing it, and Sam had, in response, blindfolded him and set him loose in the park.

Dean had promptly fallen over and scraped up his knees pretty terribly, prompting a week of remorseful, desperately-helpful Sam.

Wow, Dean was going to miss him. Even as he revved the Impala, resignedly getting into place behind the slow bus, Dean felt it really hit him. A strange kind of clenching in his stomach and an aching loneliness that he could remember from the days after his mom had died.

It was a long drive to California.

* * *

Five months. Five months, and Dean was on tenterhooks. Sam hadn't called, except for a short voicemail that he arrived safely in California, and that was it.

As soon as they finished up a false trail after a mermaid—really, as if there were mermaids—Dean booked it for California.

Hunting Sam down was a little more difficult that Dean anticipated. He wasn't at his dorm—Dean had already visited once, putting up a lot of protection with paint that matched the walls and salt under the rugs—nor was he at some of the more populated hang-outs, or even the library.

Dean was almost getting desperate enough to ask around, which he really really didn't want to, just in case word got back to Sam, when he found him.

Playing his guitar.

For a second, Dean wasn't sure what he was seeing, and when he did, he felt a little sick.

Sam was on a bench outside of a bar, strumming a set of chords that Dean had always complained was really annoying, even though he secretly enjoyed hearing Sam play anything.

What really made Dean freeze up inside was the case, open on the ground beside Sam, loose change and dollar bills littering the interior.

It looked like begging.

Dean forced himself to breathe and relax. It wasn't, it wasn't begging. Just, y'know. Work. Street musician. That was technically an occupation. Some people did it for a living.

One girl stooped, dropping some coins and giving Sam a look so full of pity that Dean growled, drawing a strange look from the two college kids passing him.

Sam didn't look like a beggar. Not really. But threadbare jeans and an old hoodie . . . Dean wanted to pull Sam away from the people standing around and tell them to stop staring at his brother like some kind of freak show.

But that wasn't his place, not anymore. Sam had left. Dean rummaged through his wallet, yanking out everything he had. He still kept the bills folded in the old patterns—each one folded differently so Sam could tell them apart.

Dropping them into the case made him seize up with fear. He was right there. He could just reach out, and Sam was right there . . .

Sam was humming under his breath, like he did when he was really into a song. Dean choked back a sob and stood swiftly.

Sam's head tilted up, a frown marring his brow and Dean knew he was five seconds from being detected.

He left.

* * *

It wasn't that he meant to. He just did it.

"Hello?"

Sam's voice in his ear. Dean tilted the bottle back again.

"Is this some kind of prank?" Sam sounded tired, possibly stressed.

"Sammy," Dean slurred. "You should get some sleep. You sound tired."

"Dean? Is that you?"

"Forgot my voice already," Dean said mournfully. Everything was looking a little hazy, and Dean blinked at his bottle. He was probably drunk. Oh well.

"Are you drunk?" Sam's voice was a strange mix of concern and exasperation.

"Blood alcohol content s'prob'ly high," Dean murmured.

"Don't drive, then," Sam said sharply and Dean giggled.

"I'm at the motel, silly."

Sam paused. "Dad with you?"

"Nah." Dean slumped back against his pillows. "Sammy, the room smells funny."

He got a stilted laugh for his efforts. "Dude, go to sleep. You sound wasted. Hey, drink some water first."

"Then I'll have to pee," Dean complained.

"Tough. Go get some water. Now, Dean."

Dean set the phone down, fumbling for the edge of the bed and tumbling off very un-gracefully. "Ouch," he muttered.

It took quite some time to get over to the sink to grab a mouthful of water, and somehow Dean managed to smash his nose against the bathroom door in the process.

Slightly more aware, he returned to the bed and picked up the phone.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean choked. He hadn't expected Sam to still be on the line.

"Uh, sorry. I'm gonna just . . . sleep now. Yeah."

"Okay. Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"It'd be cool if you wanted to call. Y'know, when you're not drunk."

If Dean had been more in control, he might've concealed the eagerness with which he responded "yeah?"

"Uh huh. Go to sleep, okay?"

"Kay Sammy. Love you."

He heard a muttered, "wow you're really drunk," before the phone slipped from his fingers and Dean passed out.

* * *

Dean noticed with a strange kind of detachment that he was trembling.

"I'm here about Sam Winchester?" he said to the desk, not quite able to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Oh yes. Another college friend?" the woman was amused. "Don't worry, he'll be fine. The car just grazed him."

"What's the verdict, then?" Dean asked.

"Sprained wrist and some nasty bruises. That's it though, I promise. I was there overseeing. He's asleep right now."

"I won't wake him up, could I just . . ."

"Sure, honey." Thank goodness for nurses who were lenient. Dean followed her meekly, and she left him at the door to Sam's room with a comforting pat on his shoulder.

Sam was far too still on the flimsy bed. Dean strode up close before he knew what he was doing, staring down at Sam's sleeping form. He couldn't help himself, reaching out to touch Sam's hair. Sam could've died. Sam could've died and Dean wouldn't've known except for one of Sam's friends had used Sam's cell to call the first name on Sam's speed dial. Dean was ridiculously glad it was still him.

Dean swore softly at him and snatched his hand away as Sam stirred. He started to creep away when Sam spoke.

"Dean?" he slurred. "I know it's you. Where are you?"

Dean was cruel, but he wasn't that cruel. "Hey Sammy," he murmured. "Just making sure you were okay."  
Sam reached out for him and Dean couldn't help himself, stepping close enough that Sam could get an hand around his forearm.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Course I am. I'm heading out tonight."

Sam looked vaguely disappointed. "You, you're . . . um, you're good, though, right?" he blurted.

Dean swallowed. "Course, I am, Sammy." His voice was a little too hoarse, but hopefully Sam wouldn't notice.

Yeah, sure he wouldn't.

"You be good, kay Sammy? No more getting hit by cars." Dean pulled away from Sam's grasp.

Sam wilted, pressing back into his hospital bed and nodding silently.

Dean made his escape. And hated himself and Sam for the barrier that was between them now.

* * *

He actually had a legitimate excuse. An excuse that consisted of a haunted house near Sam's college, that Sam had called in to Pastor Jim, who had then passed it on to Dean.

He had made Pastor Jim swear to tell Sam that Jim himself had taken care of it, using the excuse that _technically_ since Jim had given the case to Dean, Jim had taken care of it that way.

It was a stretch, but it wasn't like Dean could get Jim to flat-out lie.

The salt and burn was easy enough—the stupid college kids would now stop going in and getting hurt by the disgruntled suicide case from fifty years ago—and Dean turned to Sam. He had decided years ago that he had an internal compass that lined up with his little brother. He was very much okay with that.

To his utter astonishment, Sam wasn't studying or hanging out with his roommate Brady (Dean had done a thorough background check on the guy, seemed okay except for the rich white kid vibe. But whatever).

Sam was on a date.

Dean resisted the urge to wolf-whistle and instead casually checked the girl out. For one, hot. Not that it really mattered to Sam—Sam had been so much the not-so-pretty girl's dream for senior prom that Dean had been forced to step in and find Sam's date for him.

Dean casually walked past and heard the two of them talking about some philosophical theory. Figured, Sammy would find a hot geek to date.

"Atta boy," he muttered under his breath, and turned away.

It was fine. Sam didn't need him anymore.

What should've made Dean happy and proud instead ached a little, deep down.

So Dean made himself drive away.

* * *

**A/N:** Hey guys. So a bunch of you requested some of the time when Sam's at college. This one's from Dean's perspective, but I think I'll try and get Sam's perspective as well, and maybe some more focus on Jess in another fic.

oh and hey, more guitar for the couple requests I've gotten for that :)

Planned for the future: Henrickson's debut (give me time, I need to re-watch some episodes w/ him first), idk maybe some more pre-series? those are a lot more difficult to come up w/. Um, and possibly some S3. I'm debating whether I want to finish it off with season 2 or not. Season 3 would be oh so icky to write. Maybe I'll just do a kind of overall S3 fic. bleh idk. Lol i should totally finish with Sam's death and LEAVE IT MWAHAHAHAHA (no I won't, you guys know I love schmoop way too much don't worry)

I need to do my homework yuck.

Okay this A/N reads like I'm drunk, promise I'm not, I'm just weirdly jittery with the need to turn this research paper in. Ignore me.


End file.
